Chapter 13

HOW I SET OUT ON MY VOYAGE.

When the passengers of the Nautilus went on board, the bright sun was glittering on the water, the whole river was full of life, covered with vessels of all kinds,-- the light boat, the lugger, the steamer, with her gaily-coloured paddle-boxes and long dark stream of smoke; the heavy coal-barge, scarcely moving at all, sunk down almost to a level with the water: and there were sounds of all sorts, both from the vessels and the shore-- puffing of steam, dipping of oars, creaking of rigging, ringing of bells, shouts and calls, and the sailors' musical "yo, heave, yo!"

But when we went on board a few hours before, all was comparatively quiet, though the great pulse of life in London never quite ceases to be heard, even in the middle of the night. When we crept down to the edge of the shore, the yellow lamps were gleaming around, and the quiet stars twinkling above, and the young moon was looking down at her own image dimly reflected in the river.

"Where is our vessel?" whispered I to Whiskerandos.

"Yonder; don't you see her black hull?"

"But how are we to get to her?" said I. nervously; "I have no great mind to swim."

"Do you mark that dark line that cuts the sky? That is the rope which fastens her to shore. We will make our way easily along that."

I had a tolerably intimate acquaintance with ropes, and the feat was not a difficult one for a rat; and yet-- shall I confess it?-- my heart quaked a little as I followed my leader across this trembling suspension bridge. I was, however, always unwilling to show fear in the presence of Whiskerandos, so I concealed even the relief which I felt when I reached the vessel without a ducking.

It was indeed a delightful home for rats, and many of my race had thought so, for the number of us on board certainly trebled that of the sailors. The majority of our brethren in the vessel were ship rats, whose appearance so much resembled my own that terms of friendship were at once established between us. The brown rats kept together in quite a separate part of the ship,-- a wise precaution to avoid the quarrels and fights which must otherwise have constantly ensued. I consequently saw less of Whiskerandos during the voyage than I otherwise should have done.

I managed to establish myself, audacious rat that I was, in Captain Blake's own cabin. I knew that it was a spot of danger,-- that much skill and caution would be required to avoid detection; but I employed myself industriously in enlarging a small hole, till I had secured for myself a passage for escape in case I should be discovered, and also the means of free communication with the other parts of the ship.

I need not describe the cabin more than by saying that it appeared to be a very snug little place. It held both a swinging-cot and a hammock; and I examined with great curiosity these and other articles of furniture, as this was the first opportunity which I had had of observing how man makes himself comfortable. Assuredly his wants are not so few nor his requirements so simple as ours.

Early in the day the captain came on board with his son, and after he had given sundry orders on deck, they both descended to the cabin. Imagine my surprise when, on their entrance, I recognised my old acquaintance of the Zoological Gardens, the blue-eyed boy and his father! I instinctively looked, though in vain, to see if they were followed by Billy and Bob.

Soon afterwards the anchor was weighed, and the vessel began to move. It was to me a strange and new sensation. I had never before experienced any motion but that of my own little feet.

Towards evening the motion grew stronger. The vessel heaved up and down, rocked to and fro; the creaking sounds above grew louder, and were mingled with a constant splashing noise. Neddy, who had been very merry and active all day, now on deck, now in the cabin, asking questions, and examining everything upon which he could lay his hands, appeared now quite heavy and dull. He complained of headache, and lay down in his hammock. I thought that the boy was ill. However, he was lively as ever in the morning.

Our sea life was rather a same one, after the first excitement of starting was over. Neddy spent some hours every day in the cabin, poring over things which I found were called books. I could not at first comprehend why, when his eyes were fixed on the pages which to me seemed exactly alike, he should sometimes look grave, sometimes merry, and sometimes laugh outright, as though some one were talking with him out of the book. When, however, his father read aloud to the boy, or he read aloud to his father, I could imagine why they were amused, though I never could find out by what means the book could make itself heard. I have often snuffed round the volumes, and even touched them with my whiskers, but they seemed to me dead as clay. It must be some wonderful talent, possessed only by man, which enables him to hear any voice from them.

There was one large volume in particular, which Captain Blake called "Shakespeare," from which he sometimes read extracts to his son. I heard him say once that this very Shakespeare had been dead for more than two hundred years. Is it not marvellous that his thoughts, preserved in leaves of paper in some manner inexplicable to a rat, should survive himself so long,-- that he should make others both laugh and weep when he himself laughs and weeps no more?

As may be supposed, I took no great interest in the reading until my ear was caught one evening by an allusion to my own race in Shakespeare, "Rats, and mice, and such small deer." We had then a place in the wondrous volume; this made me all attention, and more than once that attention was rewarded by hearing of the race of Mus. One mention both surprised and puzzled me. The rhyme still rests on my memory:

"But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And like a rat without a tail, I'll do-- I'll do-- I'll do!"

The _do_, of course, represents _nibble, nibble, nibble_; but the rat without a tail is of some species of which I had never before heard, and have certainly never met with.

When Neddy read to his father, it was from a different book; he called it "History of the French Revolution." It might have been a history of my race, for it seemed to be all about rats: democ-rats and aristoc-rats; "doubtless," thought I, "tribes peculiar to France." Most savage fellows the first seemed to have been-- to our race what tigers are to cats, still more powerful, bloody, and destructive. I, like others who jump at conclusions, and do not understand half of what they hear, had made a ridiculous mistake. My vanity had led me to over-estimate the importance of my family; but a conversation between Neddy and his father undeceived me, and made me a sadder and a wiser rat.

_Neddy._-- "Well, papa, I fancy that we shall have a great deal to see at St. Petersburg-- palaces, churches, gardens, all sorts of sights! But what I most want to see is the czar himself, the great autoc-rat of all the Russias."

I gave such a start at this, that I dreaded for a moment that I had betrayed my hiding-place. Here was another rat, and one so singular and so great, that he was thought more worthy to be seen than all St. Petersburg besides! I really felt my whole frame swelling with pride; every hair in my whiskers quivered!

"Is he really so powerful, papa, as people say that he is?"

"Very powerful indeed, my boy."

"And he's despotic, is he not? He has no Parliament?"

"No Parliament!" I repeated to myself; "well, that's no great matter in a country so abounding with other good things! But what a rat of rats this must be, to be so spoken of and thought of by the lords of creation!"

"It must be a fine thing to be an autoc-rat, papa, and have no law but one's own will!"

"It is a giddy elevation, Neddy, which no truly wise man, conscious of human infirmity, would ever covet to attain."

"Wise man! human infirmity!" exclaimed I. These few words, like a touch to a bubble, had burst my high-blown ideas of family dignity. It was a man, then, one of human race, who chose to add rat to his name; and these democ-rats and aristoc-rats in France-- why, they must be men too, nothing but men, after all!